


Speed of an Echoing Howl

by grnidshrk



Category: Fast and the Furious Series, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grnidshrk/pseuds/grnidshrk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles left when they told him to. He left and he's just now coming back, almost thirty and nothing like the spastic boy he was. </p><p>But it's only because his <i>new</i> family told him he had to, had to lay his ghosts to rest, so that they <i>all</i> could get on with their new lives</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speed of an Echoing Howl

At twenty nine Giovani "Stiles" Leonius Stilinski had finally finished growing into himself. He stood long and lean at six foot three inches with wide palmed, long fingered calloused hands permanently stained black at the knuckles by oil and grease. His hair was a bit longer on both his scalp and his face, the baby fat his form once held gone first because of the rarity of meals and then the energy he expended working just to eat. He was almost scraggly looking, like a thug; his outsides matching the rough man he was inside after killing other people.

Even if it was just to survive.

His upper chest, shoulders, and back were covered in tattoos; a Wolf paw print on his shoulder to represent the impact the Werewolves of Beacon Hills had on him, a prayer in Latin for forgiveness for all his misdeeds, permanent spells woven into his skin with specially prepared inks, black and acid green flames eating their way up his arm as a representation of his guilt. The scars on his body, along with his tattoos, were a physical manifestation of all nightmares he'd seen and inflicted on others through action and inaction. 

Him staying away from home—as he'd been asked, no, ordered too—was a silent, painful penance but one he willfully acted out.

Even so, he'd made himself a new family. They'd fed him, a skinny waif like thing skulking around with naught but his jeep and ragged clothes to his name, and watched as he devoured food with none of it sticking, seeming to disappear into thin air once swallowed, after he did odd jobs for them. When Dom had learned he knew how to take care of his Jeep, he pulled him in close, taught him what he needed to know and set him free to pay his own way and fly as only he could.

They were his family now. One who accepted his faults and guilt and didn't care as long as he tried his best by them and himself; they'd freed him. From his guilt, from his pain, from the misconceptions he'd had about himself and his mother's death, they'd set him free to live as they were all supposed to.

With the wind soaring beneath metaphorical wings stained with life and a screech of liberty from his breast.

He was free now, he was his own man.

But Stiles, Leon, was a quiet man now, his experiences forcing him to silence himself, but still brilliantly smart and scarily insightful when the time came for it. He was considered ruffian with his appearance, though he didn't fight unless forced to, so many dismissed the intelligence behind his amber eyes until it was too late. So many had fallen to that thin disguise.

No, he was just a simple mechanic who loved to race because of the adrenaline and danger, the sense that he was really alive again. Sometimes he was a criminal, yes, but it was the price to pay for his freedom, for his new family after the old one, his pack, cast him out.

He knew who he was and what he was worth now; mechanic, racer, and criminal, the Sheriff's son, ADHD afflicted book worm, and an ousted member of the Hale Pack. He was back up, support, partner, and most of all family to those that counted.

But he still never wanted to face what he'd already lost.

After Rio, London, Letty, and Shaw, Leon really thought he'd be able to just be with his family for a while. But then they got their pardons, permission to got back home, back to California and LA and Mia just gave him that look as she held Jack. The look that said I know you miss them and tore at old and partially healed scars over a decade old.

With their pardons in hand, proof they were legal and not wanted citizens again, it was Dominic who convinced him it was time to face the music he'd left behind in Beacon Hills 12 years before.

So three months back, Leon, Stiles, left for Beacon Hills.

-/-/-/-/-

The forest green Mazda RX-8 MS with silver detailing pulled carefully casual into Beacon Hills. He was here to do as Dom asked, to face his past. Even if he didn't actually get out and talk to his old family, he'd reasoned with the man, the least he would do was get a visual on them to make sure they'd survived without him.

Luckily for him there was a small motel across the street from their local Sheriff's office, all he had to do to see his father was get a room with a view facing the front and he'd be able to see his dad come and go.

What he hadn't anticipated were his former pack members being part of the force.

Or bumping into Peter three days into his reconnaissance.

The elder wolf was apparently not as easily fooled as the others he'd brushed up against recently. He'd followed Leon to a cafe farther in town, sitting outside with something far to sweet to drink and a cigarette between his fingers as he relaxed in the shade looking at a car mag. 

"Stiles." 

Dark eyes behind sport shades set in a scruffy face looked up and met the older man's, "Peter."

Peter smirked as he sat without asking, "You look old."

The scathing look Leon gave him was reminiscent of his teenage self, "S'what happens when your family and Pack oust you and you live on the streets. It ages you."

The two sat in silence staring at each other, Leon not giving anything up without a fight, when Peter asked, "When'd you start smoking?"

That was when, the question so innocuous, Leon broke.

Peter had noticed Leon's voice was rougher than it used to be, like it was unused, especially with how low and soft his voice almost was. But then there was his laugh, though it could probably be considered more of a rumbling chuckle, that sounded hoarse and broken like gravel was lodged in his throat and he'd been gargling acid that tore at his vocal chords.

The younger mans huffs of laughter evened out as he calmed, amused amber eyes peeking from atop his sunglasses.

"About the time I managed to get a job in a garage farther south. One of the one of the guys offered me one along with a beer, no matter I was only seventeen at the time, because to them I was 'to fuckin' tense' to be workin' with'em and the only other way they knew to relax was a good fuck. Unfortunately, finding a good fuck that also didn't have VD was a pain so I went with the easier option."

Leon took another drink of his too sweet coffee, eyes looking far off into the distance, "I don't go by Stiles anymore, by the way, Stiles died when the pain got to be too much."

The jaded amusement in Peter's eyes died hearing that, acknowledging that he could have kept that from happening if he'd just reached out to the boy he'd once offered the bite. But then Stiles had disappeared. His chance gone, and that boy, that man, was buried, if not dead, beneath blood, oil, and cigarette smoke.

"Who are you then?"

A flinty smile within a pointed jaw aimed itself at him, teeth slightly yellowed from smoking and too much coffee, with eyes still as piercing as they were a decade before, "Leonius, Leon for short."

Peter gazed at the man across the small table, merging the man he knew then to the one in front of him now and realized they weren't that different after all. He was still someone he'd turn, someone he'd call his own, so he accepted the change and grinned at the man before him.

"Nice to meet you, Leon. Tell me do you know of another pack I could join? I'm not terribly fond of my nephew, you see."

Leon chuckled, gravel and acid almost soothing to Peter's ears, "That depends, you still able to be a lawyer? I know this family, this pack of misfits and criminals, who'll probably need some good representation at one point or another. After all, none of us are very good at staying good, just protecting our own. Not Wolves, but they're as good as, if not better at being a pack than some I've seen."

Peter grinned, "I could live with that. Besides, you're still pack and I'd still offer you the bite."

Stiles looked at Peter his sun glasses slipping further down his nose, "'Suppose that means I need to talk to Dom, it looks like I'm bringing home a stray. You won't be the first, so I think they'll be fine with it."

They grinned at each other; it was nice, being pack, family, again.


End file.
